


Legerdemain

by spaceleviathan



Category: Thor (Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-16
Updated: 2013-08-16
Packaged: 2017-12-23 15:21:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/928066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceleviathan/pseuds/spaceleviathan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They try to attack when Loki is locked up in Asgard's dungeon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Legerdemain

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little thing that I started writing prior to the newest Thor 2 trailer. Which was beautiful btw. Though I'm starting to have suspicions that Thor is not in fact a main character.

He felt smaller here, delicate, and he knew what he looked like; like a priceless jewel taken out from its case. On display it had seen so large, so wonderful, but it didn’t stand up to closer scrutiny. In the palm of a hand, it seemed meagre and worthless.

It was not, of course, but illusions were powerful blinders.

Loki relied upon that now, leaning heavily on a wall of unbroken glass by his ear. There was not much of it that remained intact, and if he dared move his head even the slightest he would inevitably slice open his forehead on a pointed edge. Not that he felt strong enough to move, or had any inclination to.

 _Escape_? A part of him asked, but he ignored it. He’d fought so hard to be here, and even if he tried to run he’d end up being chased, fighting even harder not to come back, only to lose and have all his battles amount to nothing. No. There was to be no escaping today.

He was waiting instead. He closed his eyes for a moment, fatigue catching up with him, and listened to himself breath.

It was a soothing sound, reminding him he wasn’t dead yet. It was more than he could say about his visitors, whose bodies lay bloodied and still on the floor of Loki’s cell. Their heads, meanwhile, were neatly tucked under his arm, and Loki was cradling them as if children. He could feel the blood soak through his tatty trousers, and that too was comforting. Better theirs than his.

It took a while – perhaps minutes, perhaps hours, but a while nonetheless – for a sharp stomping to echo down the palace halls. He was deep beneath it, encased in the caverns, his brightly lit cell surrounded by dark and emptiness and the reverberations of the life and joy from upstairs. Each day made it easier to ignore, but it never stung any less. Sometimes, with the pleasure and cheer drifting down to him from above, it seemed like they had forgotten about him completely.

Even now, their slow response time appalling for even the newest of trainee guards, Loki realised he could have died a hundred times over if he hadn’t been able to protect himself. If he’d had the energy, it might have even upset him.

Thanks to his still-closed eyes, exhaustion wearing at him, he did not see who it was thundering down the stairs. However, it didn’t take a genius to interpret the noises. The entire Avengers trope, if he wasn’t mistaken by the mix of heavy and light footedness, and the overwhelming stench of Midgard pervading the empty walls. Perhaps he should feel flattered that they’d all come to pay him a visit.

“Ah, the cavalry arrives,” he drawled, finally looking upon them through the glass and smiling. “A touch too late, I’m afraid. The fun’s over.”

Iron Man landed next to Captain America, and he flipped his face-plate to show his disgusted expression. The scene he presented, Loki had to admit, was not the prettiest one. The blond hero in white, red and blue, on the other hand, was blank-eyed and straight-faced. The blood, bodies and gore, apparently, wasn’t an unusual sight for him. Well then, Loki would just have to try harder next time.

Hawkeye, the harsh man with a pure heart, had an arrow trained on him. The heads nestled in Loki’s lap did the god no favours in Barton’s eyes, though Loki couldn’t care less. Meanwhile, Black Widow was doing her duty and assessing the situation with sharp eyes and a severe frown.

The green beast was, thankfully, nowhere in the vicinity, though Loki had heard its roars from the floors above. The now all-encompassing silence suddenly felt more threatening.

There were a few guards who had joined them, standing large and hostile behind their visitors with spears which shook in their hands and eyes which betrayed their fears. Scared of him. Of poor, little Loki would could hardly gather up the breath to talk, never mind attack anyone more. It relaxed him to know that, no matter how cocky the Avengers were, there were others in the universe who were more sensible.

And finally, there was Thor, who was staring at the way Loki petted the hair on his collected disembodied heads, carefully carding his fingers through the strands as if they were pets. “What happened?” He wondered. Loki shrugged.

“These creatures came in. I believe they’re connected to the Chitauri. They broke the cells,” he pointed down the long room, where other prisoners were splayed, torn open and gutted. “They wanted all of us dead.”

“They left you until last?”

“Probably for the best,” Loki smiled, patting one of the heads, his favourite with long dark hair, for their brilliance. “If they hadn’t, those cretins would still be breathing. I might have had to kill them myself.”

“How did you defend yourself?” Captain America asked, not immediately noticing any weapons about Loki’s person. The god carefully turned his eyes to the human, eyebrows raised in disbelief.

“Is he being serious?” He asked Iron Man, who shrugged. Hawkeye hissed, “Magic,” to his blond companion, who seemed to suddenly remember that Loki wasn’t defenceless for all that he may appear to be.

Illusions. What wonderful things. Such power one could hide beneath them.

Thor suddenly asked, “Are you alright?” It appeared that he had yet to notice Loki’s splayed legs from where he had gracelessly fallen, or his slump posture which betrayed his inability to move.

“I think I’ve been poisoned,” he admitted, because it was probably important.

When nothing immediately happened, Loki looked up, eyes widening when he saw Thor had not so much as shifted expression. The smaller god glared, tilting his head in disbelief. “A little help?”

Thor spurred into action then, throwing off the hand of Captain America who grabbed his bicep and told him it might be a trick. It was always possible, of course, since Loki was fond of games, but this time it wasn’t. He had no time for them now.

“Can you stand?” Thor asked, and Loki only just managed to grasp the blond’s hand unassisted. When he was lifted, it was almost entirely Thor’s strength which had him on his feet, and it was solely his determination that kept Loki there.

The god of Mischief and Chaos found himself slump on his sibling’s shoulder, but was too tired to care for how dignified it did or did not look.

“Are we seriously not letting him die?” Iron Man asked, earning himself a glare from Thor as they started to shuffle out of the dungeon. “Oh, okay, so we’re both healing him _and_ letting him keep the heads of the men he massacred?”

“Here,” Loki said, tossing one into the air, and the human in the metal suit caught it before thinking, before hissing and dropping it disgustedly on the ground. Loki grinned, but had made his point. These were not men, but creatures from the edges of space driven mad by their leader. Anyone _would_ go mad. Loki knew this better than anyone else. He threw another towards Black Widow when she made an enquiring noise. She was calmer about blithely catching a disembodied head.

“Why did they come for you?” Thor asked, but Loki decided he’d had enough of questions. He leaned a bit heavier on the God of Thunder, pretending he was wearier than he was. It wasn’t far from the truth, since he felt his muscles weaken with every step.

He let his head roll onto Thor’s shoulders, his play of the victim a flawless façade, and none of the assembled company believed a second of it.

“Your highness,” A guard stopped them, and Loki peeked open a tired eye to glare at them. The guard caught the look, swallowed, “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“You’d leave him to die?”

“Yes.” Hawkeye said, but in Asgard it was different. The Midgardians held rights to be furious, Loki recognised that, but in this world he was still royalty, eternally imprisoned though he was. And condemning a member of the royal family to die was treason in the highest form.

Loki’s hand moved for a small, concealed knife when the guard did not immediately answer, but Thor caught his movement with a steady arm. Loki ceased movement, unwilling to fight the golden prince now, when his vision was going hazy at the edges.

“Mind your tongue,” Thor warned, and the guard nodded once, chastised but beliefs unwavering, his fear of Loki rational and unequivocal, but he moved to let them pass.

“Thor,” he gasped when they came to the steps leading up to the palace. They were shaking, and Loki surmised that either an earthquake had suddenly hit, or his senses were becoming more untrustworthy. He felt his legs give out, and his brother caught him around the waist as gravity tugged him to the floor.

“Loki?” He heard Thor call, but his vision was fading fast.

“Thor!” He clutched at the man’s forearms, as if calling out for his brother would cease the poison’s progress through his veins, but it didn’t stop the encroaching darkness.

The next time he saw light, it was cutting through his eyelids, and he blinked twice to clear them.

He was in the healing rooms, the sunlight shining through as the wind ruffled the thin drapes. He watched them silently for a while, basking in the silence and the breeze, before recognising a presence next to him.

Thor was trying to keep quiet, but his patience was not a limited thing and once he had noticed Loki waking, it was only a matter of time until he began fidgeting.

Loki turned to his brother slowly, meeting eyes for a while before noting that Thor was alone in his visitation.

“Where are your fellow Avengers?” He asked, sitting up slowly and hissing when he realised how stiff he was. He had been here for days, likely, fighting off the effects of the toxin. He noticed that his prized head – the one with the lovely, long hair – was gone. He had probably dropped it in his cell.

Thor answered, “They have returned to Earth. Their business here concluded as soon as the threat was passed.”

“It’s a shame,” Loki said, stretching his arm back and forth, before smiling serenely up at his brother. Thor frowned, immediately suspicious of Loki’s pleasant expression. Such distrust sent a thrill down his spine. How clever his brother had grown.

“Why so?” He finally wondered out-loud, already prepped and ready to parry the blow Loki landed upon him. The strength of the attack felled them both, Loki pinning Thor with both his weight and magic, and his brother that little too slow. 

“Because,” he said, voice dripping honey-sweet and low, heavy with secrets. “Now I cannot kill you all in one fell swoop.”

“It was you,” Thor replied, mind finally catching up as Loki’s grin grew manic. “You brought them here to help you escape.”

“What a brain you have hiding beneath your brawn, brother,” Loki mocked, threading his fingers through blond strands absently. “Pity you were so blinded by my apparent weakness. Bringing here has revitalised not only my flesh, but also the magic your father tried so hard to suppress.” An illusion. It had all been a trick. Such wondrous things.

Thor’s face was thunderous, apt, and his hand outstretched. He was calling Mjölnir to him, the magic was whizzing towards them even now and Loki could taste the electricity as it crackled through the air. By the time it came, it’d be too late.

Thor caught his wrist as he lashed out with the knife, tiny but sharp, but was not in time to prevent the edge catching his cheek. The man held a crushing grip on his brother’s arm until Loki teleported away from the path the hammer was quickly heading down.

Perhaps Thor stood up in a rage when he caught his weapon, or perhaps he lay there and seethed. Loki did not know, nor did he care. He was out in the open, fizzling with magic, ready and eager to cut down all who dared oppose him.

There were guards and warriors already running towards him as he headed towards the palace, brashly waving around their weapons, ignorant even still of his powers. A thousand years, two, or more, and they had yet to realise Loki was more than what he appeared to be.

The war had begun, more of his allies coming after their sacrificed brethren, and as hard as they tried, the Realm Eternal were losing their fight already, for the prince, the hero of this world, had unwittingly brought the greatest enemy Asgard had ever known to precisely where he wanted to be.

In front of him lay Odin, waiting for him to storm the palace, to try and best him in combat. The attempt to meet him in combat from the king would be admirable, but futile. The old man's front would be nothing more than an illusion of his own creation, a thin, fragile attempt to save face as Loki tore apart the fabric of the universe in his vengeance.

Behind him, he left only chaos, and not even the mighty Thor could stop him now.


End file.
